One of Ali’s repair jobs next door could explode, sending flaming chunks of automobile into our box, igniting the wallballs and turning the plyo boxes into a giant bonfire; and as the climbing rope burns like a candle wick and the ceiling starts to collapse; Rob would still finish his squat ladder, saying something like, “This should only take you six seconds,” as the bumpers smolder at the ends of the bar on his shoulders.
Of course, we’d expect that of a coach.
The rest of us mortals get annoyed or distracted by certain things.
I don’t mind if people watch me squat–it’s a part of this whole process. We encourage each other, and we help each other, because until I can feel the movement in my bones, I can’t always tell what I’m doing wrong.
But if you’re going to watch someone, don’t fucking stand directly in front of them. I mean, seriously. Think about it.
When I’m squatting, I’m keeping my head neutral, and if your body is directly in front of me, where do I look? Your face is too high, your feet are too low, if I look to the side I’ll get a kink in my neck: no, I have to look you squarely in the belly or at your shorts, depending on your height. And I don’t know about you, but this seems a little awkward to me–especially if you’re a guy.
The reader, at this point, might say, “Well, can’t you just tell him nicely to move?”
I probably could, IF I weren’t already descending towards the ground with 70 kilograms on my shoulders.
Sometimes we accidentally find ourselves standing in front of someone, or blocking the clock with our sweaty bodies as we chug our water bottles–I’m not talking about accidental bodily misplacement. I’m talking about deliberate hovering.
People, people, please, we all watch each other at Crossfit. It’s okay. But if you don’t know where to stand, take a look at what the coaches are doing. I have never once seen a coach stand directly in front of me. They always stand to the side a little, or directly to the side, so they can make sure my knees aren’t riding over my toes, or behind me, to endow me with their super-strength as I combat gravity with a barbell.
If you stand directly in front of me while I squat, (and by directly, I mean squarely eyeball to eyeball, 1 meter or less, AND you’re not actively lifting on the opposite rack) then unless you are one of my friends, all I can think about is punching you in the face when I’m done, and that’s probably not a healthy response.
If I were competing, I know there would be people in front of me–but if I’m strong enough to compete, then I hope my focus could endure ogling, hovering, flash photography, train wrecks and forest fires.
Until then, gentlemen, stay out of my line of sight; because if I don’t bore holes into your body with my stinkeye, then with all the ladylike grace I can muster, I’ll have to growl a string of bad words at you as I lift, and I don’t enjoy doing that, unless it’s an emergency.